Brilliance
by AlexAces
Summary: He was forbidden to protect himself by his government. She was fighting to get her shot at making a difference. He needed family, she needed recognition. Will Harry and Hermione's friendship be enough to carry them through against the odds, or will they die trying to find their way to their futures? AU, OOC, OC. Rated T for violence and sauciness. (Mione/Krum, Harry finds a family)
1. 1) Defeat the Purpose

**Brilliance**

**Chapter One Defeat The Purpose**

During the summer after third year, Hermione begins grooming herself to become the next Minister of Magic in a deeply biased magical Britain. Meanwhile Harry's summer is so miserable that he finds himself longing for the invisible friend and babysitter he made up for himself as a child. AU, OOC, and OC. Rated M for later sauciness, abuse, and violence.

A/N: I own nothing but the shape of this creation, all the pieces and building blocks belong the J.K. Rowling (except for Harry's invisible friend!) and all credit goes to her for their excellence.

{&*&*&}

Hermione Granger knew she was an imperfect person, but she was proud of herself all the same. She set her own expectations for herself, which some said were unrealistic or too high, but she had always been able to more-or-less meet them. She was seeking something, but she wasn't quite certain what it was yet. Since this wasn't something she could look up, so she tried not to worry about the nameless feeling that drove her to excel, to push herself hard in every spare moment. Her exhaustion was satisfying, and even though she had pushed herself far and beyond her personal limits this year with the time turner, she found herself hesitating to give it up.

She was standing in front of McGonagall's desk, with the time tuner still around her neck, clutching in her hand.

"Well?" McGonagall asked, a touch concerned and a touch exasperated, looking as if she knew exactly what the student in front of her was thinking. "You said it yourself, Miss Granger, you can't possibly keep going like this."

"I… I know that Professor." She shifted her weight from side to side, trying not to fill the silence with the sound of her neatly polished shoes scuffing the stone floor. A clocked ticked quietly, off in the corner.

Minerva McGonagall fought the urge to clear the persistent tickle in her throat, knowing the sound would only startle Miss Granger into chagrined action, when she obviously needed a few more moments of introspection. Her lips twisted minutely. Hermione Granger was perfectly capable of figuring out all seven years of Hogwarts' standard curriculum on her own, and faster than any of her peers. She saw the desire to prove herself written in bold across her postures, her fear of failure was in the defensive way she hunched over her books and notes, her pride in herself was in the spring in her step when she handed in an assignment or test, every motion and intonation was testament to Hermione Granger being an open book. Open to everyone, but her own self.

The young girl fidgeted, which was unlike her, as was the stretching silence. When her face started pinking, McGonagall took pity on her.

"Out with it, Miss Granger."

Her pink face turned white as if charmed, and she hurriedly lifted the time turned from 'round her neck, tangling it in her bushy hair in her haste to deposit it on the desk. "Oh bollocks!" She muttered under her breath, before throwing a horrified glance towards her professor. "I'm sorry, Professor, I—"

"Never mind, it'll come right out." McGonagall pretended not to have noticed the curse, and rose to help her student disentangle the incredibly valuable object from the snarls of her hair, working together silently and without awkwardness. She was pleased that Miss Granger possessed the survival instincts to keep her from apologizing further; she would have hated to have to assign her a detention, which would have to be served in September. Harry Potter would forever be her most treasured of her cubs, but had things been different, Hermione Granger would have been without peer.

The time turner did not, in fact, come right out. Miss Granger ended up applying several gentle detangling charms, careful not to hit even the chain attached to the artifact, before it would come free. She hastily plucked torn out bits of hair from the chain, inspected it hastily and then held it out to McGonagall.

"It would be prudent," McGonagall said "for you to explain your hesitation in returning that time turner, Miss Granger."

Still holding the time turning out awkwardly, shoulder hiking up towards her ear, Hermione answered "I'm just a bit down, Professor, that's all."

"Oh? Surely you haven't changed your mind about needing Muggle Studies?" Her lips twisted. "Or is it Divination on your mind?"

"Heavens, no!" Hermione cried in an endearingly non-magical fashion.

"Well then, out with it, Miss Granger!" She repeated.

Hermione drew the hand holding the time turner back to her chest. "It's just… I don't know how I'll ever become minister of magic if I can't handle another year like this."

"Minister of Magic?" McGonagall asked. Her lips tightened, as if she wished she could lock the words back in her mouth.

"Well, it is a very demanding position, I imagine. I've been reading up on it, you see. Magical Political Science is a very underdeveloped topic, but from what I can find it seems that, with the exception of…" She visibly restrained herself from naming Fudge, "well, with a recent exception or two, the Ministers of Magic have classically been very hard working men and women. I have to hold myself up to their examples, if I have any hope of becoming Minister one day."

McGonagall felt her heart tighten inside her chest. "Take a seat, Miss Granger." She said, taking one herself in a deliberate manner that would have signalled to a well-bred young witch that she was trying not to flop herself down in a wretched heap.

Hermione Granger, of course, didn't notice. She perched primly, but not graciously, on the edge of her chair, her own anxiety written across her face.

"I'm afraid" McGonagall began, finding herself speaking a little too slowly while her mind raced and darted like a pursued rabbit, "that Minister is too much to hope for, Miss Granger."

Hermione's hands froze in their delicate tracing of the time turner. "But… But professor, I am the brightest young witch of our age, aren't I?" She didn't pause for confirmation. "I am hard working, and dedicated, and I care passionately about the future of magical Britain! I will study economics and magical law and above and beyond everything expect of me until no one on this continent is better equipped to head our government!" She shook with the need to stand and pace. "Professor." She hastily added.

"There are things that simply can't be found in books," McGonagall said, in as soothing a voice as she could. "In some ways, the Minister of Magic is as much a Monarch as the Minister. He was the unofficial next in line, if you will. Fudge may be a bumbling idiot, and a puppet, but his blood provides him with more support than all the knowledge in Britain could provide you, Miss Granger. More right to the position, to some minds. I'm very sorry."

Hermione had her empty hand closed tight, her knuckles white. Her breathing was fast, but her lips were pursed white and tightly shut, her eyes looked wet and out of focus underneath her blankly relaxed brow. McGonagall was feeling decidedly uncomfortable, and perhaps a bit guilty. Perhaps she should have better warned the girl, before she could build a dream on a foundation that was nothing more than sponges transfigured fleetingly by her mind into bricks. But she was an educator, she had always hoped fondly to only inspire the best of the girl.

That thought summoned, quite on its own, the words "But if anyone could do it, Miss Granger…" and she stopped in horror at her own sentimental foolishness. But even without finishing the sentence, she could see the spark of life come back to the eyes of her brightest student. Hermione looked at her finally, instead of through her, but her gaze was distrustful.

McGonagall provided herself with a quick escape from that line of conversation. "But perhaps you should look into following the example of your peers. The other female students in your year have already begun." She left the topic vague, confident that Miss Granger would bite.

She did. "Begun what, Professor?"

"Why, grooming themselves for marriage!" McGonagall was confident again of Miss Granger's reaction. She waited for the explosion. It built itself up in the young girls eyes, her posture became ramrod straight and her shoulders dropped into the angled position of a duelist.

It didn't come. Slowly, Hermione's head tilted just the slightest bit to the side. "Professor," her manner was that of a student in class addressing an equation "Could a good marriage increase my chances?"

McGonagall leaned back, hiding her surprise. "Why… Yes Miss Granger, I suppose it might." She had assumed the girl was still secretly infatuated with the youngest Weasly boy. "You would have to marry into a very powerful and pure blooded family, and have their full support, but I suppose… that might do it."

"I could do that." Hermione's hands and shoulders were relaxed, only the hint of red around her eyes and the little crescent bruises forming in her palm were a testament to her earlier emotion. "Do you happen to have any suggestions?"

Minerva McGonagall had been at Hogwarts for a long time. She figured she knew a thing or two about muggleborn girls and their bra burning and romantic ideas on true love, though she knew that she had learned less than she perhaps should have. She was fairly certain that approaching the idea of marriage in a rational manner was beyond them, as a rule, as if it were not ultimately the single most important business partnership of most witches' (and wizards') lives.

She twisted her lips to the side ruefully, examining the intensity with which her second most beloved student of her career regarded her. She would have to remember to overestimate this girl, she had a tendency to live up to good expectations for the sake of living up to them.

Finally she said "You'll have to decide for yourself. You have a lot of time to choose, but very little time before the courting in your year begins in earnest. Instead," she hesitated, trying to decide how best to avoid causing the girl to reject the idea out of hand, or to take it up in too much earnest, "you might consider how the young men of this school regard you."

"They hate me. Except for the Weaslys and Harry. Because I'm smarter than they are." She frowned, and raised her chin. "I'm not ashamed. I won't make myself behave stupidly just to attract a male. That would defeat the purpose."

McGonagall leaned forward slightly, leveling Miss Granger with an direct look, and feeling a bit like Albus must when he played these games. "It would, wouldn't it?"

{&*&*&}

A/N: I was having a really, really horrible day at the end of a stressful two weeks, and so I sat down and started writing, and fan fiction of all things appeared, as if by magic. Then I realized that I didn't just have an idea, I had a story. I thought I would start to share my stress reliever with this fantastic community, as a way of giving back to all the authors who have provided me with a refuge from my bad days. Let me know if I succeed in entertaining you, your happiness makes me happy. Oh, but your thoughtful insight or suggestions will make me ecstatic!


	2. 2) Nobody

**Brilliance**

**Chapter Two - Nobody**

A/N: I own nothing but the shape of this creation, all the pieces and building blocks belong the benevolent J.K. Rowling (except for Harry's invisible friend!) and all credit goes to her for their excellence.

{&*&*&}

"Instead, you might consider how the young men of this school regard you." McGonagall said slowly.

"They hate me. Except for the Weasleys and Harry. Because I'm smarter than them." The idea was always painful, but she knew it was her burden to bear. "I won't make myself behave stupidly just to attract a male. That would defeat the purpose." Hermione protested, desperately trying to keep her tone neutral.

McGonagall leaned forward, and the intent on her face leant it a very nearly feline quality. "It would, wouldn't it?"

Hermione nodded, sensing the return of the pit of despair that had opened up under her when McGonagall told her that the position of Minister of Magic was too much for her—her!—to hope for.

She allowed herself thirty seconds to feel absolutely dreadful.

The time turner was still in her hand, and she wished desperately to go back it time and prevent herself from having this conversation. Maybe she would have grown out this ambition, and maybe she would never have to experience having it ripped from her, she would have set her sights elsewhere on her own. Then she would not have to go trudging through the rest of her life with a pang of disappointment and resentment each time her eyes brushed past the words 'Minister of Magic' in the Daily Profit, and saw another Cornelius Fudge pictured under the headline. But Hermione Granger knew herself better than that. It would have always been her goal, because her heart was always set high, and there was little else that appealed to her in the wizarding world. The Wizengamot was completely composed of purebloods, but perhaps she could try for Head Healer in St. Mungos?

She felt a bit nauseous. Hermione Jean Granger, failure. Hermione Jean Granger, well-married Bimbo with political aspirations doomed to fail.

Failure.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the word was the sound of her blood rushing into her ears. Her thirty seconds were up. She slammed the fear back into its compartment, and opened her eyes.

McGonagall's intent look was half faded away, and she was beginning to look decidedly disappointed.

Which certainly straightened out Hermione's defeated slouch.

"You are under estimating the males of our species, Miss Granger. Perhaps it would be best if we left this until you are older, and you've outgrown some of this cynicism."

"Cynicism, Professor?" She asked hesitantly, fighting the urge to put up her hand.

"Indeed. I am your Head of House, Miss Granger; would I ever suggest you neglect your studies? Or, for that matter, recommend that you become anything less than the best Witch you can be?"

Hermione was horrified. "No, Professor! I would never imply—"

"—oh, but you did! Now, as your punishment over the summer, I will assign you the following reading list." She wet a quill and dashed off a list on a spare piece of parchment. "None of these books are in Hogwarts' Library, you'll have to find them elsewhere, I'm afraid. I expect you to have read at least two of these come September, but be advised that any less than all will leave me very disappointed in you, Miss Granger." She held out the list to her second favourite student, who stood and took it gingerly, and then looked up in surprise.

"Professor?" She asked, at a little bit of a loss for words while her head spun with half formed ideas and questions.

"And do take good care of that time turner." Hermione blushed lightly, she had forgotten about it. "I might hesitate to leave it with another underage student, knowing that the trace simply cannot cover an underage witch or wizard while they are in the past. You are dismissed, Miss Granger. I'm sure you have things to do before the train leaves."

Hermione stood, list in one hand and time turner in the other. "Thank you Professor. Enjoy you summer."

McGonagall's lips twitched. "And you as well, Miss Granger." And with that her second favourite student, a title hard fought and won, rushed from the Head of Gryffindor's office. Presumably to send off a quick letter or two with the school owls.

{&*&*&}

The train was getting ready to go, and Harry Potter sat very still in his seat while his best friend Ron Weasley chatted about a summer free from homework and Snape. Ron knew Harry never had very good summers, but he figured that sitting here in silence would be worse than trying to highlight all the best parts of what would still be a crap two months.

Harry thought about the same thing every year on their way home, though Ron didn't know it. When they were in first year, Harry had tried to tell a sleepy Ron about the invisible friend he had had when he was very little, who had come and looked after him when the Dursleys locked him in the cupboard all day, or left him outside alone. Except he might have been a little embarrassed to talk about his childhood, so all Ron really got was that Harry had an imaginary friend who babysat him, who he called Silly.

Ron, being a sleepy eleven year old boy who had no need for imaginary friends in a magical household full of siblings, had had a bit of a laugh at muggle kids' antics and then fallen asleep. He had never intended to hurt Harry's feelings, only it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. He felt a bit sorry for muggle children, who had to pretend at magic.

Harry had wanted to know if there was any chance Silly was real. It had seemed reasonable at the time that she was a magical creature of some sort. He could remember how it felt when she hugged him. Until he came to Hogwarts, no one but Silly had ever hugged him, and he didn't think he could have imagined it so well without any reference. Could he have been remembering his Mum and Dad's hugs?

That was a really depressing line of thought. Harry tried to shake it off.

Hermione came rushing in, waving to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and sliding some magazines into her bag. The girls waved back and giggled their way out of sight. Ron asked her about the magazines, and Hermione pointed out that she was a girl, if he hadn't noticed.

Ron said he really hadn't noticed, and the two of them started bickering.

Harry stared out the window. The first time he met Silly, he had been five. He and Dudley had come back from their first day of school, and the Dursleys had wanted to take Dudley out for ice cream. Mrs. Figg wasn't home, and Dudley started throwing a fit when Aunt Petunia suggested they tote Harry along, so Uncle Vernon had taken him outside and given him a stern talking to. Harry couldn't remember the words, they had been neither unusual nor unexpected, but the gist was that Harry was old enough to go to school and so he was old enough to rake the yard alone.

And so he had, he raked all the leaves up, and even picked up with his hands any that he missed with the rake. He hurriedly tried to get all the leaves away in the bin, before Dudley could get home and stat jumping in them and kicking them round the yard. The bin was too tall for Harry, and he had to pull it down to and angle to put anything into it, and then right it back up again. Uncle Vernon was pulling back onto the drive, Harry pulled the bin over and got wet leaves and trash all over the place, and himself.

Uncle Vernon had been in a rage, but he eventually left Harry to clean it up. Aunt Petunia had refused to put a clean coat on Harry's filthy little body, se he had shivered and set to work, dreaming of the hot shower that would come later. A lukewarm bath wouldn't get him clean to Aunt Petunia's satisfaction, and he's get to shower for probably ten whole minutes before anyone came in and started to shout at him for being wasteful.

But even really good, warm daydreams can only keep a person warm for so long, and soon Harry was shivering and the shadows were getting so long that he was having trouble finding the garbage. Aunt Petunia would be livid if she found the smallest scrap of trash on her pristine patio, but he didn't have a broom and he was afraid to go and ask for one.

He started to cry, but he kept hunting for garbage and awful, cold, wet leaves.

And that's when Silly appeared, holding a dustpan, a broom, and a coat, and sporting a look of surprise.

"Are those for me?" Harry asked, just as surprised, but much too cold to care.

The girl looked at the patio, and at Harry, and then handed her burden over. The coat was squashy and purple, but deliciously warm, and it fit better than the hand-me-down he had from Dudley. "Thanks." He said simply, with all the solemnity of a child, and set to work.

She sat down on a chair, adjusting her own coat. She was bigger than him, and maybe eight or nine years old. "Who are you?" She asked. She talked kinda funny.

"Nobody." He said, honestly.

"Everybody's somebody." She argued.

Harry kept sweeping. The wet leaves stuck to things in the most frustrating ways.

"Well what's your name then?" She asked.

Dudley had already taught half the class to call him 'Potty' and 'Harry Snotter' by the end of their first day of school. Harry was afraid this older girl would tease him too.

"Tell me." She urged.

"No, it's stupid."

"Tell me anyways. I'll tell you mine."

"I bet you have a nice name. I don't." He pointed out.

"Well I have to call you something. Otherwise I'll have to call you 'boy'."

Harry shrugged. "That's what Uncle Vernon calls me."

"He does?" The girl moved the chairs out of his way while he made sure he did an extra good job.

"Sure."

She looked at him skeptically.

"So what's your name?" Harry asked, to distract her.

"Mine's dumb too. Long and boring and stuff. You can call me Silly." She stuck out her hand.

Harry thought that was a worse name than even his, but the girl seemed pretty pleased with herself, so he shook her hand. "Very nice to meet you, Miss Silly." He said seriously.

She broke down into giggles, covering her mouth when he put his finger in front of his lips.

Once she had calmed down, he handed back the broom and dustbin, and reluctantly peeled off the coat. "Thanks again. That rubbish would have taken me ages, and I would have been really cold. I'm sorry I got your jacket dirty."

"Why were you outside without a jacket, all wet and picking up junk with your bare hands?"

"Because I'm nobody, I guess." He wasn't supposed to talk to anyone about this stuff, but he trusted Silly. And she had let him borrow her jacket, even though she knew his was all wet and dirty. "Nobody and a freak."

Silly frowned, and tapped her foot. "I don't like it when you talk like that. I think you're wrong. I bet you're great. You just don't know it."

"I've gotta go, I'll see you later" Harry mumbled, and hurried back towards the house, feeling uncomfortable. When he looked over his shoulder, Silly and her things were gone.

{&*&*&}

A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews so far! I would like to remind everyone that this isn't a romance, there will be lots of plot and character development, but Hermione is a young girl and she's got a long ways to go before I give her a match.


	3. 3) Symbiosis

**Brilliance**

**Chapter Three – Symbiosis**

A/N: I own nothing but the shape of this creation (plus Silly), all the pieces and building blocks belong to the benevolent J.K. Rowling and all credit goes to her for their excellence.

I have no Beta Reader, any and all mistakes are my own. That being said, if something bothers you, I certainly won't mind if you point it out. Onwards to glory! Oh, right, and the story too. Mustn't forget.

{&*&*&}

Hermione felt incredibly awkward approaching Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Like most of the school, especially her year mates, they resented her brilliance. She would have to offer them an academic favour, and hope they did not value humiliating her above good grades. If she had had more time, she might have tried to approach one of them alone, but they were walking with linked arms down to the carriages, and she knew the chances of them separating before they got off the train at platform 9 ¾ were slim.

She hopped into their carriage directly behind them, apologizing over her shoulder to a couple of fourth years she had budged whilst shutting the door firmly in their faces.

Lavender and Parvati looked at her skeptically. "What's all that about?" Lavender asked, her friend nodding and .

Hermione blushed hotly, and resisted the urge to scuff her shoes against the floor for the second time that day. "I… was hoping I might ask you for a favour. And I'll owe you both one back, you can cash in any time you need help next year, of course. With the OWLs getting closer, I'm sure you'll want my help. I know it's summer hols now, but I won't forget of course, and I would—" she was so anxious that she squeaked when the carriage lurched forward.

They didn't manage to supress their giggling, especially after Hermione reddened and cleared her throat awkwardly. Parvati took mercy on her eventually. "What's the favour?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "May I borrow some of your old magazines?"

"What?" Lavender asked, with a rather stupid look on her face, Hermione thought. "What do you want those for?"

Hermione kept her chin up, and ignored how hot her face felt. "There are no good positions in magical Britain for muggleborn girls, it seems, no matter how they score on their NEWTs. Especially if they're not… able to, erm, secure an influential partner. And… And… Well I'm not very pretty, am I?"

They blinked at her with their bovine eyes, a string of pink lip gloss and spittle spanning the widening gap between Lavender's parted pouty lips. Hermione stared at it, horrified. This was a mistake, they might be more approachable than the Slytherin girls, but they were amateurs.

Parvati covered her mouth with her fingertips while she thought. "So... you want witches' beauty magazines to help you find a husband?"

"That's awful!" Lavender shrieked.

"I thought so too." Hermione agreed.

"No, you're already looking for a husband to use! What about romance?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm fourteen. I don't even want a boyfriend. But I do want a successful and challenging life. I don't want to find myself graduating Hogwarts and scraping the bottom of the barrel for a job or for a partner because I wasn't prepared. Besides... why shouldn't I have a husband who's useful to me? _I_ will be useful too him as well, or else why would we marry?"

"Marriage isn't about usefulness! It's about love, and romance!" Lavender argued.

"No, I agree with Hermione." Parvati interrupted.

Lavender rolled her eyes. "You're so brown."

Parvati smirked. "And you're a ditzy bint."

Lavender stuck her tongue out between her pouty, shiny lips. Hermione gaped a little, unsure why they weren't clawing each other's eyes out yet.

"Marriage," Parvati continued, "is about successfully balancing what you get and what you give, Mummy says. Whether that's support or work or love. A man and his wife need to provide the best they can for each other and their families, and it's a good match if they can provide equal value to each other."

Lavender made a comically exaggerated disgusted face. Hermione snorted and Parvati giggled. They traded looks, and something unnamed lodged in Hermione's throat at the easy camaraderie in Parvati's eyes. She swallowed around the choking emotion and the sudden urge to utterly bawl. Parvati's attention turned back to the topic at hand, distracting her.

"So you want to have your pick of the flock, and being Hermione Granger, you thought you'd do some research?" Hermione noticed the mocking in the girl's tone was affectionate towards her for perhaps the first time ever. Some bit of respect had been won with her today, she just wasn't sure when or how.

"Out of character, I know."

Lavender giggled. "You might want to work on being like this more, you know."

Hermione smiled self consciously. "Like what?"

"Human." Lavender answered.

"Friendly." Parvati replied at the same time. They giggled.

Hermione smothered her sudden swell of fury. "I'll, erm... try to remember that. People aren't like books, I don't know what they're saying half the time."

They smiled sympathetically, but a little skeptically. Hermione thought they might be doubting her.

"I think that's why I don't really have any friends—Aside from Ron and Harry. But they're not terribly complicated, you know. Even I can understand their fights better than they can."

They nodded as the carriage lurched to a halt. Lavender looked at Parvati for her answer. She simply hopped out of the carriage, and enlarged her trunk, rummaging through it for her magazines. Lavender followed suit. She shrunk her luggage again, and then sauntered away towards the train, magazines in her arms. Hermione and Lavender rushed after her.

"Here's what I'll do, Hermione. I'll give you all these magazines, and I'll even owl you the beauty bible I've been putting together. I've seen your copy spells, they're perfect, you can keep it over the summer and give me back my original in September. It has clippings of all my favourite beauty spells, since there are like a billion different spells for everything... it's hard to figure out which are any good without trying a few bogus ones. A witch ends up collecting her favourites. In exchange..." She covered her lips with her fingertips, thoughtfully. Hermione may have held her breath. With preparation for her OWLs, she worried that she would not have the time to do all of Parvati's homework as well as her own. "Hmm. Yes, in exchange, why don't we be friends?" Lavender blinked in surprise, tilted her head, and then smiled. Her ringlets bounced with her vigorous nod.

Hermione found herself gaping at the pretty girls, much as they had been gaping at her a few short minutes ago. "Wha? She asked stupidly. Her brows knit as her brain kicked in. "What's in it for you?"

Parvati gave her a sideways glance. "Friendships are like casual marriages, Hermione. Lending you some magazines and my book—which I have memorized anyways—means very little to me, but perhaps very much to you. Being friends might mean very little to you, but it could mean very much to me, now and in the future. There are a lot of things I could do for you if you're interested in becoming one of the most eligible witches in Brittan, with very little effort. And frankly, I want to help you, and that makes me your friend. Can you say the same?"

Lavender giggled a bit anxiously and climbed onto the train. "Besides, you're not so bad when you're not looking down your nose at us or lecturing us about giggling in the library."

"Libraries are sacred spaces, Lavender!" The two girls burst out laughing. She blushed, but didn't sense any malice behind their laughter. She stopped outside the compartment Harry and Ron were waiting for her in. "And Parvati... yes, I think I can."

"Good. The three of us are friends then." She smiled warmly, without trying to do anything horrific like the squealing hugging she and Lavender engaged in. Hermione was deeply relieved, but she didn't know if that meant the girl didn't really accept her as a friend. Lavender had an openly uncertain smile on her face.

"Isn't there some sort of initiatory hug? With jumping and squealing, perhaps?" She asked half-jokingly as they filled her arms with magazines. Stuffing them into her bag—she hadn't been able to bear the thought of the train ride with no reading materials—she remembered the emotion she had felt when she had seen Parvati's unexpected camaraderie.

"Oh, as if you wouldn't send me to my Gods if I tried."

"We'll get you there, just you wait!" Lavender giggled. "I bet you're dying for proper girly hugs, you just don't know it."

"Rubbish, it's much too ridiculous and you know it!" Parvati joked. "She'll have us studying on a Friday night before we have her squealing and jumping about, just you wait."

Hermione laughed, and Lavender made a gagging sound. "Uhg!" She cried, "Anything but that!" making Hermione and Parvati laugh harder.

"I should join the boys, before Ronald decides to come out... Join me?" She asked.

Parvati put her hand on Hermione's arm, and shook her head. "I can't stand that wizard, he eats like a pig, and he smells like one too." Hermione giggled, and immediately felt guilty. They were speaking too quietly for the boys to hear, though their laughter filling the corridor, attracting attention. Maybe that's why pretty girls laughed so loud and so frequently.

"Please, please say you'll teach him a deodorant spell?" Lavender giggled as she reapplied her pink lip gloss. She leaned in, and whispered conspiringly, "He'd be a bit cute if he cleaned up a bit, don't you think?"

Hermione laughed. "I can't say I haven't thought that before."

The girls in front of her traded giggling looks.

"Oh no, no you don't!" Hermione cried. They burst out laughing, and she joined them.

She slipped the top couple of magazines out of her bag to look at as a distraction from all the weird feelings she was having. "So, erm, 'Witch Weekly', 'Magical Beauty'... and—oh, I don't think I'll need this, erm... this poster of "Europe's Hottest Teen Wizards"." Lavender squealed and took the poster back, petting it lovingly and cooing over it. She giggled at the absurdity of Lavender's antics, and thanked them for the magazines as she slid them back into her bag. They fluttered their fingers at her and headed off down the corridor.

She turned around as she waved and promptly met Ron's eyes. Harry nodded to her, and then slowly retreated back into himself.

"What's all that about then?" Ron asked loudly as she entered the compartment.

"All of what, Ronald?" She said stubbournly.

"The magazines, first of all. Those looked awfully girly."

"I am a girl, if you haven't noticed." She countered.

"No, actually, I hadn't." Ron said offhandedly. "Are you really?"

"Honestly Ronald!"

"And don't call me that!"

"Oh, terribly sorry, would you prefer Ronnikins?" Hermione noted how different her bickering with Ron was in contrast with Parvati and Lavender's. They didn't really mean it, but then again, did she and Ron? She looked at Harry, but her dark haired friend was staring through the window and probably wouldn't surface from his thoughts until the train stopped. Her heart twinged with pain and sympathy for him.

Ron had replied venomously, but she hadn't noticed. He tried to get her attention. "Hermione? Hermione?"

She looked away from one mess of black hair to a mess of red. "Sorry."

Ron looked uncomfortable. "Don't think that makes up for calling me Ronniekins. You know how I hate it, Mione."

She resisted the urge to point out his whinging about it was the only reason anyone ever did it. "Look Ron, I... realized today that I can't get to where I want to go without embracing that I am a witch... magical and female. I can't play by muggle standards, I can't expect any sort of respect from the magical world, I am neither a male nor a pureblood." She looked at him pointedly.

Offended, Ron went red. "What do I have to do with this?"

She looked at him for a long time, and something in Ron demanded that he stay silent for once in his fourteen years. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Ron, but you have absolutely nothing to do with this." Ron wasn't sure why it sounded like she was apologizing for something other than insinuating his world was biased towards him and against her.

She cut off his train of thought, seeing his suspicion. "All that aside, erm, you and Harry are my best mates," Harry didn't even stir at the sound of his name, "but I thought maybe I should try and make a few more friends. So I took a carriage with Lavender and Parvati, and we got along better than I hoped. They lent me some witch magazines, it will be good for me to do some research on modern day magical pop culture, don't you think? I'm ever so out of touch with the rest of our year."

Ron fumbled for a response, still wanting to ask what exactly he had nothing to do with. "Erm... yeah. I would lend you my Quidditch magazines too Hermione, only I've already leant them to Harry. Sorry 'bout that, I would have offered if I had known..."

Hermione smiled sadly, and looked over at their small friend, whose stare was so blank that he looked dead. At least to the world. "No, I'm glad you gave them to him. He has so few joys during summer hols." She looked back at Ron, and her smile turned wry. "Besides, I hardly think you'll manage to convince me of the appeal of Quidditch, you've been trying since we were eleven. Best to give up on me!"

Ron quirked a smile. "I'll never give up, Mione, you know that!"

Hermione's smile fell flat. "Yes, well..." She floundered for something, anything to say.

Ron blushed. "Erm... because it's the best thing since wands... Quidditch, that is. Erm, and you're too bloody smart not to get that eventually."

Hermione looked away. "When did the train start moving?"

"Huh. I dunno. Just now, I reckon."

"Oh."

"Are you okay, Mione?"

"Thank you, Ron."

"What for?"

She smiled at him sadly. "I'm not sure. Only... I think next year will be very different for me. And I hope nothing really changes between us."

He looked at her oddly. "Why would it?"

"Oh, because I'll be different, I think. A person has to grow, don't you think so? Or else they get left behind in the dust."

"Grow. Right. So you're planning on getting taller then?"

She looked at him askance, and the realized he was joking. She laughed; unaware that it was an imitation of the loud, sweet laugh her two newest friends used. "Oh, certainly." She teased. "I'll be the tallest girl you've ever seen."

Ron swallowed thickly. "A bit much, don't you think? Can't you just say like this, Mione?"

"No, I don't think I can." She said sadly.

But for the chugging of the train as it hurtled through the countryside, the compartment that held the three friends was silent.

{&*&*&}

A/N: So, what do you think? Don't y'all know that I'd love to hear your thoughts?


	4. 4) Silly Wishes

**Brilliance**

**Chapter Four – Silly Wishes**

A/N: I own nothing but the shape of this creation (plus Silly), all the pieces and building blocks belong to the benevolent J.K. Rowling and all credit goes to her for their excellence.

I have no Beta Reader, any and all mistakes are my own. That being said, if something bothers you, I certainly won't mind if you point it out.

{&*&*&}

Last time...

_Ron swallowed thickly. "A bit much, don't you think? Can't you just say like this, Mione?"_

_"No, I don't think I can." She said sadly._

_But for the chugging of the train as it hurtled through the countryside, the compartment that held the three friends was silent._

{&*&*&}

The trip home had been very subdued. Hermione was dutifully reworking her summer study schedule to account for the extra time she would spend on transforming herself into, as Parvati had put it, one of the most eligible witches in Britain. She wasn't sure what to tell her parents yet, both about the changes to her appearance and the issue of her being in two places at once. She didn't think she'd tell them about the time turner. She had considered it, and decided to tell them that she had obtained special permission to practice her magic over the summer, under the condition that it did not exceed the class 1 power level, a totally made up category. She'd say she wanted to increase her technical understanding of magic, which was time consuming but didn't require her to cast strong spells, only their ghost. Thinking of that, she scrapped her schedule and pulled a new sheet of parchment out of her bag. She could adjust her sleeping schedule so that she could spend an extra hour a day on the study of technical magic, perhaps she could attempt to create a new spell once she was back in the safety of Hogwarts? She looked up thoughtfully, and her eyes caught of Harry.

He had withdrawn completely into himself, and was looking dreadfully pale and haunted.

Hermione felt dreadful. She looked up at Ron, who was watching her watch Harry.

"Harry." She called.

He didn't respond.

"Harry?" She called again, a bit louder.

Nothing. Ron looked at her anxiously. She clapped her hands twice, sharply. Nothing.

"We definitely shouldn't try to shake him." She said regretfully. "Hopefully he'll snap out of it before we reach the station."

Ron agreed. Harry was his best mate, and as much as these dead periods scared him, he couldn't bear to see Harry startled out of one of what Mione called his 'episodes'. The last time it had happened, Harry had screamed and then trembled for an hour, barely together.

Ron thought that Harry was probably the strongest bloke he'd ever met. He hated him sometimes though, hated him for his renown for defeating You-Know-Who, hated him for his vault in Gringots stuffed with gold and all the things he could and did buy with that gold. It made Ron feel sick with himself, resenting his best mate, who was violently orphaned and raised by two muggle pricks who didn't give a shit about Harry and loved nothing better than letting him know it too.

Ronald Bilius Weasly thought he was a terrible friend to Harry. Maybe even to Hermione too. But things with Hermione were different. She made him so bloody mad he wanted to hex her, but as soon as he shot his stupid mouth of and hurt her, he wanted nothing more than to give her the biggest hug since Merlin knows when, and beg her to forgive him for being an utter wanker to her. Again.

Which would be stark, raving mad of him, and unmanly besides. So he didn't do it. She was brilliant anyways, she'd realise right off that all she'd have to do to win any argument with him was give him a dose of her puppy dog eyes.

He'd be doomed for life!

"Bollocks." Ron muttered.

Hermione looked up from whatever billionth edition of a summer school schedule she was working on, and then went back to work.

Ron had no idea what was going on with her, trying to be a girl and stuff. And the whole conversation about growing had scared him a bit, but he hadn't noticed that underneath how angry he felt too. It was a newer sort of anger for Ron, it was controlled and determined. Instead of feeling mad at the world, which he knew he fell into often, or mad at Hermione, which he did nearly as frequently... instead he felt mad at himself.

He wished he had the words.

He watched both of his best mates subtly. He was good at strategy in chess. He good be good at it here too, if only he could figure out the bloody rules and objective of the game she was playing. He furrowed his brow in thought. Unfortunately, figuring out girls was not his strong suit, and he suspected Hermione was going to be a girl about all this. Which meant he definitely couldn't ask her what was wrong.

Bloody hell.

The train was pulling into Platform 9¾.

{&*&*&}

Harry was chewing on something that was bugging him. He had been thinking about Silly, thinking about all the dozens of times she had shown up like his very own genie. There hadn't been anything magical about her though, aside from her sudden appearances and disappearances. He had wracked his brain for hours in the past three years, trying to remember if he had ever heard the little pop noise that magical made when they apperated, but he could only say for certain that he badly wanted it to be true, and that his brain was willing to believe anything if it would make him happier.

Which was a complicated problem. He hadn't seen her since before his ninth birthday, and she hadn't indicated that anything had changed, not that he recalled. So maybe she was a little witch child, or some other magical creature, and she had suddenly died. Or maybe she hadn't actually cared about him, and had gotten tired of the game. Or maybe she was never real, and his brain had totally given up on providing him with even the small comfort of the hallucinations. All of these options gave him the most horrible pain, worse than Uncle Vernon's metal belt buckles had, because his magic didn't know how to slip into this break and quietly speed the healing for him.

He had wondered once if he had made her himself, she was so very real, after all. He had hidden her boot prints in the snow before, after she had disappeared. Her hugs were warm and loving, her hair was soft, her snowballs were solid, he remembered her smell and her voice and the taste of the take out she had marched into a shop once and bought for him when she found out he hadn't had anything but hose water for two whole days. He didn't know why his magic would stop summoning or conjuring her for him, when it only got stronger as he grew up. He had still needed her.

Silly...

It still hurt to think that she was never real. That no one had loved him before Hogwarts. Remus and Dumbledore and all the rest of the wizarding world didn't count. They never lent him a stich of clothing to keep him warm, they never fed him when he was hungry, and they never cried impotently with him over all the pain the Dursleys' had inflicted upon his mind and heart and body.

Sirius... maybe Sirius counted, in a way. He felt a tortuously hopeful longing for just one summer of joy, and safety. He burned to be normal, to have someone who loved him and took care of him again, someone he was allowed to need, who wouldn't die or leave or suddenly disappear. Silly... These were his silly thoughts, he had always thought in a bitter, sarcastic mood, it was silly to wish for the childhood he could have had if a single adult had acted in his best interests after his parents died. The happy childhood that Silly had given him a brief glimpse of in her juvenile and earnest attempts to care for him.

Silly...

But Sirius had handed Harry away, like so much luggage, and gone off to chase Pettigrew. He was willing to acknowledge that no one could possibly regret the thirteen years Sirius had spent in Azkaban more than Sirius, but Harry was quite certain he was close. How good a Godfather could he have been, when caring for his newly orphaned Godson came second to killing Pettigrew?

Silly...

Sometimes you have to choose, and as much as Harry sympathised with the depths of betrayal and anger and denial Sirius must have felt, he also believed Sirius had chosen wrong. They had both paid a steep price for that single, poor decision.

Silly...

Harry liked to believe that Silly was a neighbourhood girl who was homeschooled, and who had had to move away suddenly. She was only ten or eleven when she stopped showing up. She might not have ever noted down his address, and even if she had and had sent him letters, he was sure the Dursleys had destroyed them out of casual spite. This was the best alternative, and the one he placed the most faith in.

He had decided to follow her footprints in the snow home once, and they had simply stopped in the middle of the field they had been playing in. She had exclaimed she was late, and quickly called goodbye and while dashing behind some trees. He had counted to thirty and then sprinted after her as fast as his shorter legs could go, but her foot prints suddenly stopped, and all the snow around the last set was pristine. Harry had stood there for a long time, until he began to shiver at first gently, and then violently.

She was magical, or else she was imaginary.

Silly...

Still, he pretended she was a muggle neighbour. It helped him keep it together.

The screeching of the Hogwarts Express's brakes as it approached Kings' Cross gently pulled Harry Potter back into reality, which was as cold and depressing as that last set of prints in the snow. He bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

Please God, Merlin, anyone... please clear Sirius' name, or give me back Silly. Hell, let me conjure simulacra of them up, or have vivid hallucinations of them. I can't take another summer alone with the Dursleys, please help me.

He opened his eyes and stared at the happy crowd on the platform, a crowd of relatives eager to see their schoolchildren, none of whom could or would take him away from this hell he was about to step back into.

And all of whom would expect him to save their sorry lives, should Voldemort begin a second reign of terror, probably at the expense of his own life.

He gritted his teeth, and tried not to imagine what he would do if Dumbledore reached out a hand to him and begged "Please, help me."

{&*&*&}

A/N: So, what do you think of confused Ron and bitter Harry? Don't y'all know that I'd love to hear your thoughts?

P.S. I just wrote, edited, and uploaded two chapters for Brilliance in a single evening! :)


	5. 5) Right to Live

**Brilliance**

**Chapter Five – A Right to Life**

A/N: I own nothing but the shape of this creation (plus Silly), all the pieces and building blocks belong to the benevolent J.K. Rowling and all credit goes to her for their excellence.

I have no Beta Reader, any and all mistakes are my own. That being said, if something bothers you, I certainly won't mind if you point it out.

{&*&*&}

Last time...

_The screeching of the Hogwarts Express's brakes as it approached Kings' Cross gently pulled Harry Potter back into reality, which was as cold and depressing as that last set of prints in the snow. He bowed his head, and closed his eyes._

_Please God, Merlin, anyone... please clear Sirius' name, or give me back Silly. Hell, let me conjure simulacra of them up, or have vivid hallucinations of them. I can't take another summer alone with the Dursleys, please help me._

_He opened his eyes and stared at the happy crowd on the platform, a crowd of relatives eager to see their schoolchildren, none of whom could or would take him away from this hell he was about to step back into._

_And all of whom would expect him to save their sorry lives, should Voldemort begin a second reign of terror, probably at the expense of his own life._

_He gritted his teeth, and tried not to imagine what he would do if Dumbledore reached out a hand to him and begged "Please, help me."_

{&*&*&}

Harry waited for an hour at Kings' Cross Station for the Dursleys. Hermione had given him at least a dozen hugs, and the Weasley family had crowded around him anxiously for a while, but eventually he had convinced them to go home. Both had explicit instructions from Dumbledore not to interfere with him going home and renewing the bloodwards.

Besides, if he let the Grangers drive him to Privit Drive, and Uncle Vernon had already left to get him, there would be hell to pay.

He would much rather sit on his trunk alone in the busy crowd, with the many muggle passersby giving Headwig and him weird looks.

"I am the Boy Who Lived" he mumbled. "The first person in recorded history to survive a killing curse. And I'll probably die by my uncle's belt buckle." His lips twisted wryly. His uncle _was_ getting much too fat and old to be terrible accurate with that bloody belt, eventually he'd end up getting so worked up that ti would crack him in the temple or something, and that would be the end of him.

This was another thing Harry tried not to imagine, a fantasy that made him feel sick and disgusted with himself. He would never kill himself, not when he knew his mother had needlessly given her life with the intention of buying him just a few more seconds on earth. He would fight for his life, as best he could. Because her sacrifice, and that of his father, deserved that respect from him.

But how does one fight to live when one's government will sentence him to helpless death if he protects himself with his only advantage? The incident with Dobby's magic in his first summer after Hogwarts had left him very few illusions. Harry was pretty sure that he would be expelled and have his wand snapped if he cast any spell to keep Uncle Vernon from simply tucking away his wand for safe keeping. No one would believe that he was at risk of being beaten to death by his own muggle uncle, when he had somehow protected himself from the killing curse of the most deadly man alive in the eighties.

He was forbidden to protect himselfby his government, forbidden from contacting the more effective muggle government or their authorities in case he exposed the magical world in some way, and forbidden to seek shelter without submitting to his two week minimum torture.

And to top it all off, the Dursleys' locked up his only means of initiating communication with the outside world.

Harry watched the crowd. A happy couple embraced, laughing joyfully at being reunited. A companion of theirs took a photo.

Harry blinked and jumped to his feel. He looked at the crowd. No sign of the Dursleys yet.

He yanked his trunk open, pulled out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a bit of string, and slammed the lid shut. He scribbled hastily on top of it, and then rolled it up, and hastily let Hedgwig out of her cage and tied the note to her leg.

"Boy, what in blazes are you doing with that bloody thing? Get in the damn car." Vernon Dursley shouted from the driver side window of his big, company car.

"Daily Prophet, Editor in Chief's Office. Go Hedwig, Go!" She flew up off his arm—her long wings a blazing, angelic white in the late afternoon summer light—to a chorus of "Oh my!"s and "Oooo!"s

Harry hurried into the car, dragging his heavy trunk as fast as he could. It took him a minute to heave the massive thing up and all the way into the boot. Obviously the embarrassment of being seen with Harry after that stunt was worse for Vernon Dursley than the embarrassment of having people watch him sit behind the wheel while a scrawny boy heaved an unwieldy and obviously heavy trunk up into the boot on his car by himself.

Harry flopped down, exhausted, into the passenger seat after the embarrassing few minutes it took to lift the trunk into the car without damaging anything. Vernon started the car and screeched out of the parking lot.

"Ungrateful little shit, do you get off on weird shit like that? Do you get your fucking kicks out of embarrassing us like that?!" He cuffed Harry on the back of the head, hard. "I'll show you _fucking kicks_, you little bastard."

"No sir. I just thought you'd rather not have her in the house, sir." He answered mechanically.

"Bloody right. That filthy beast is the ruin of my Petunia, I only wish I could leave your scrawny hide outside too, freaks shouldn't be _seen_ or _heard_. They should know when to die and leave us decent people alone."

"Yes, sir, we should."

Vernon Dursley could not detect even a hint of cheek in the runt's tone, but he backhanded him anyways and kept his eyes on the road. Better safe than sorry.

Harry's glasses broke in two down the middle, and fell into his lap. He let his nose bleed freely for a moment, watching the fuzzy red spots fall onto his lap, before beginning to tidy himself up. Aunt Petunia would be livid if he dripped blood onto her carpets.

{&*&*&}

What do you think Harry wrote in that that letter? Leave me your guesses :)


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